


Legends Fall in the Making

by armanivs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birth, Catharsis, Christmas Fluff, Comfort, Crying, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Married Life, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tom Riddle is a Sweetheart, married, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armanivs/pseuds/armanivs
Summary: "  At first it shocked him just how much his future, supposedly wiser and clinically mental self had exposed to the witch that had leaped and jumped through rips and tears resulting her becoming trapped in some kind of warped temporal paradox that nobody would ever even know about to begin to understand.  "
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Legends Fall in the Making

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet little oneshot.  
> Fluff.  
> Married Tomione.

“Hermione?” the deep baritone of the boy’s maturing voice caressed her ears, “Why are you out here?”

Silently, the curly haired witch cast a drying charm over her damp, flushed face and with a subtle flick of her wrist the tracks the traitorous tears had left behind all but vanished. “Just needed some fresh air,” she said after clearing her throat to ensure her voice was as steady as normal. “It got a bit stuffy inside.”

Tom hummed in his agreement. It was the duo’s final year at Hogwarts and with Christmas lurking around the corner, Professor Slughorn had deemed it fit to throw a large party in honour of his two brightest students. Many people that had been exclusively invited had arrived causing the macroscale Great Hall to feel miniscule in size.

Hermione had only joined the Hogwarts population of 1944 a year prior. She had fallen through the unidentifiable ceiling of the Come and Go Room in which the budding dark lord held his meetings with and upon initial greeting it had become apparent that he – get this, in the future – knew her and vice versa. At first it shocked him just how much his future, supposedly wiser and clinically mental self had exposed to the witch that had leaped and jumped through rips and tears resulting her becoming trapped in some kind of warped temporal paradox that nobody would ever even know about to begin to understand.

Apparently he had married her after two years and three dates.

Once Tom had rid himself of his arrogance and took time to assess the witch that sat and helped – though never giving direct answers – Abraxas with his charms homework; Cygnus with his rather crass behaviour and even Ignatius Potter with his potions, he realised that although she was not of conventional beauty it was her instinctual kindness and the flare of bravery concealed behind war-torn eyes that attracted him to her. The dark haired boy thought she had put him under some kind of enchantment or potion as his mother had wrongfully done to his pathetic, dead father.

All tests turned out negative.

He began to actively avoid her for the better part of the two months after the Christmas holidays and was peeved at how she had managed to plague his mind with constant thoughts of her: Did Hermione eat her daily apple? Did Hermione manage to complete the potion in her first try again? What did she argue about with the lacklustre professor of Divination? Will Hermione this.. Did she do that…

Only when he could no longer continue protesting against what his mind and his magic ushered him to do did he sit down and talk to her. Although they didn’t verbally classify it a date per say, Tom knew that the day he reached out and apologised (albeit hesitantly and with much struggle) Hermione had felt relieved that some form of a relationship with her husband would be rekindled.

During classes, the couple found themselves slowly gravitating towards each other until each professor had pointed out within their classes that it was “wonderful to see the brightest students finally getting along” or something along the lines. Rumours had spread with many believing they had sated their suffocating sexual tension which in turn lead to Dumbledore losing what little liking he held for the ex-Gryffindor – not that he knew she had once been an esteemed lioness.

Their first kiss had been in the rain. From that it may have seemed romantic to an observer however they both knew it had been more habitual than intentional on her part. She had been accustomed to gentle, frequent caresses and then to be ripped from the growing comfort she had found in her enemy and thrown into the icy waters of the same man yet again could only have been jarring when faced with his cold demeanour and harsh exterior. Hermione had been consoling both herself and him after a crazed hippogriff had attempted to kill them both as Professor Kettleburn’s back was turned to them.

The first minute he had felt his magic preparing to shield him from the oncoming attack and the next he felt a warm hand dragging him away towards a large tree and soft lips slanted over his.

“Sorry,” she had whispered in haste, jerking her body away from him as though she had touched fire, “I didn’t mean to, I-”

Tom had cut her off by placing a chastising kiss on her own lips, “Shut up, Granger,” he had mumbled while silently ensuring neither of their figures were seen. When he felt her tense form relax in his loose yet possessive hold the dark wizard knew that she was glad that the events had panned out as such despite the near-death experience.

Later, he had learned that she had had many prior to that day and that now the adrenaline brought more logic than fear to her as her heavily disorganised mind locked itself into overdrive due to her trauma.

“I’m already taking care of the taking over the world bit, Tom,” she had said while running nimble fingers through his locks, dark strands of curled hair slipping from her fingertips like silk, “You don’t have to worry about anything until you claim your rightful place as Lord Gaunt,”

“Then what should I be doing, Raiona?” he had taken to call her by lioness in his fond language of Maori.

Here she smiled softly, her gaze brimming with adoration and affection for the lonely man she had married in the 50s, “Just be a teen, Tom. Have fun, do reckless things, get into trouble with your friends,”

“I don’t have friends, Hermione, you know that,”

“You do, Tom,” she placated, “You just don’t want to acknowledge what could be if you tried,”

“Why can’t you just teach me how to be normal?” he had asked so innocently without knowing that his words would have caused the facial muscles surrounding her lips to strain as her smile slowly became more forced.

“Some things are better taught by others; diversity and all that,” she sighed, a melancholy gloom overpowering her frame as she shifted to turn away from him. Only bidding him goodnight and artificially ensuring Tom had fallen asleep did Hermione weep for what she had lost and what she had begun to grow. The longing ache in her chest begging her to scream, to rant, to cry, to hurt yet she could do none but bite down hard onto the shared, white quilt and lock her screams within the base of her throat.

Hermione had forgotten how sneaky her husband was. Hermione had also forgotten to use the impenetrable, unwavering silencing charm she had managed to conjure within the midst of war.

Tom had heard every whimper, every escaped sob and felt the tremors wracking her body shaking his split soul. The fragment in his diary laying underneath his pillow grew warm in desire to be close enough to comfort her. The fragment in the ring upon his middle finger glinted dangerously under the eerie lights of the Slytherin dormitories as though it would maim and hex any that would attempt to harm the witch crying in his bed. Perhaps it would even attack himself for her.

Tom had forced her to look at him; puffy eyes, swollen lips and flushed, tear-stained cheeks completing an artwork that would cause even Claud Monet’s masterpieces pale in comparison. He had kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her upturned nose with a subtle bump along the bridge and finally her lips. The bitter taste of salty water spread along the taste buds of his tongue though he fought through the sensation as Hermione slowly began to calm.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she wandlessly cleaned both of them and resumed their bed positions – only this time facing each other than away.

“Memories?” Tom asked quietly as his arms snaked around her trim waist, “Anything you’d care to share?” his head dropped on top of hers, the scent of pomegranate conditioner clouding his smell sensors.

Hermione shook her head, the loose curls framing her face and dangling from the elegant messy bun she had pinned her usual nest in moving along with the action. “Nothing,” she sniffled, her eyes closing as she soaked herself in the rare comfort her eighteen years old husband provided, “Nothing at all,”

“Hermione,” he chided lightly, “Legends fall in the making. But you, my dearest Raiona, have survived situations you should not have. You managed to wrap me – Tom Marvolo Riddle – around your finger _twice_. You are an untold unknown legend, heroine and whatever other fancy title there are.”

“Why do I sense a but coming?”

“Because there is one,” he said, controlling his urge to roll his eyes at her know-it-all behaviour, “But.” he stressed the word dramatically, eliciting a brief giggle from the curly haired witch, “I promise that I will make you a Queen for what you have done and for what you will do,”

“Usually the girl becomes a Queen because the King likes her…” she teased.

“That went under the ‘what you have done’ part,”

“You mean to say you don’t think you’ll like me in the future?” Hermione’s arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“No,” Tom began to hesitantly placate, “I didn’t mean it like that at all-”

With an angered huff, the staccato beat of Hermione’s modest heels sounded around the magically lit courtyard as she left to return to the party they had left. And if Tom had been paying meticulous attention like he had during his Hogwarts career, then he would’ve noticed the playful smile playing on his wife’s lips as she forced him to politely chase after him.

Indeed many legends fell in the making – Lord Voldemort an example himself – however with the aid of Hermione and her experiences that brought froth the knowledge she carried, the vile creature that was Voldemort ceased to exist as Tom Marvolo Riddle occupied his position instead. A vow at the stroke of midnight on their ‘official’ wedding ceremony ensured that his wife – Hermione Riddle – would become the Queen; a legend that survived and strived and resulted in thriving.

“I love you,” Hermione murmured into his shoulder as she cuddled close to him on the guest bed they had used.

“I love you,” Tom whispered back as his lips curled up at the sight of his new-born daughter that they had yet to name sleeping peacefully on his wife’s chest. “ _My Raiona, my Queen_ ,”


End file.
